


Meeting Bobby Singer

by alexjanna91



Series: Footprints on Earth (Antichrist!Winchesters) [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Torture, Wincest - Freeform, antichrist!boys, mentions child molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-31
Updated: 2012-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjanna91/pseuds/alexjanna91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby Singer wasn’t like any other hunter they’d run into and the brothers weren’t like any other demons Bobby’s ever hunted. That right there should have been one huge warning sign for all three of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Bobby Singer

**Author's Note:**

> First in my Footprints on Earth arc in my ongoing Antichrist!Winchesters verse.  
> Translated into Russian: [Сыны Земли, Исчадья Ада](http://www.crossroad-blues.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=84&t=7354&sid=cb5f5cd9ddd2cde98395230a5140d3dd)

“Oh God, please no! Please, God no!” The man’s screaming was really rather pathetic. Dean wasn’t moved at all. 

“God ain’t the one you should be begging.” He smirked and took another swig from his half empty bottle of Johnny Walker. The awesome thing about being born part demon was that no matter how fucking shit faced drunk Dean got, he wasn’t ever going to die of alcohol poisoning. 

“Now, I know you’re in a lot of pain,” the man gave a pitiful whimper and shook in his binding ropes as Dean took an unconcerned step closer, “but you really should have thought about that before you touched that Robins boy in his private places.” 

He took extra special delight in the fact that Evan Carvel’s eyes widened in dawning horror and his skin went from just painfully pale to sickeningly green. Dean grinned down at him. 

“This here, what I’m doing to you, is a fucking _cake walk_ compared to the kind of torture you’re going to be facing in about, oh,” he glanced down at his blood splattered watch, “twenty minutes or so.” 

Evan gave a shriek that pierced through the air and went up a pained notch in pitch when Dean dug a razor sharp hook into the man’s collar bone. He screamed and tried to thrash away only to be held tightly in place by the nylon ropes Dean had found in his garage. 

“Did you use these ropes to tie up little Benny Strait when his parents asked you to watch him that afternoon all those years ago?” Dean taunted as he pulled the hook down, slicing a clean bisecting arc in Evan Carvel’s chest. “He never told a soul, did he? About what you did to him for the five hours he was in your care.” 

Evan shrieked again and whimpered and threw up in his mouth, choking himself on his own panicked bile. Dean paid it all no mind. He had the man tied up in the living room of his own nice _normal_ two story suburban home. And Dean had all the time in the world. 

“What did you tell him to get him to keep his mouth shut?” Dean tauntingly asked as he ruthlessly began to press needle after needle into Evan Carvel’s ribcage. Big enough to send unbearable pain lancing through his victim, but small enough to keep him alive as long as he wanted. 

“I didn’t hear that!” Dean shouted at the tortured man. “What did you say, Evan?” 

“Dean!” The sound of his brother’s voice broke through Dean’s complete focus and caught his attention. 

Turning to look over his shoulder, face blood splattered and pouting, Dean fluttered his eyes at his younger brother. “Aw come on, Sammy. I’m not even done yet.” 

Sam gave him a look and dropped a box of VHS tapes and a shoe box of photos on the sofa across from Dean’s work area. “Enough playing, Dean. We have to go. The neighbors called the cops three minutes ago.” 

Dean pouted, but seemed to be pacified when Sam stepped toward him and wrapped a tender hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. “I know.” Sam murmured against his older brother’s soft full lips. “But I think you’ve made your point.” 

Glancing back at the shaking, bleeding, vomiting Evan Carvel once more, Dean had to concede that he’d had his fun –and Evan had been _fun_ -, but if they were going to get away without having to mentally whammy any cops he had better send the guy on into his eternity. 

“Fine.” He grumbled moodily as he started packing up his tools. Sam was watching Evan as he pissed himself, his bowls finally giving up the ghost as his body began to shut down from the pain. He wrinkled his nose at the smell and looked away. 

“Can’t you put him out of his misery already?” He asked. “I don’t want him alive when the cops get here. You know how bad those migraines get when I have to start wiping minds.” 

Dean did know. Sammy’s migraines weren’t fun for either of them. “Yeah, yeah.” He waved a mildly dismissive hand at his younger brother as he rolled up his tool kit and latched it closed. “But I’m not exactly putting him out of his misery. You know what kind of torture Alistair likes to inflict on the kiddy molesters.” 

Sam scrunched his nose up again in distaste. Dean may enjoy torturing and have a certain knack for it, but Alistair reveled in it, got off on it. Sam knew for a fact that his brother had never actually popped a boner while filleting someone’s skin from their bones. 

“Leave the rest of his punishment to Alistair.” Sam said turning his back on the tortured man still dripping on the carpet. “We’ve got cops to evade and a town to leave behind.” 

Grinning at his brother, Dean stretched the few inches of height difference between them and sucked Sam’s lower lip into his mouth laving at it with his tongue for a moment before letting it go. “I’ll just be a minute, Sam.” He said. “Go start the car while I finish up here.” 

Rolling his eyes, Sam pecked another kiss on his brother’s smiling lips before he turned and strode out of the house on long graceful legs. 

He watched and waited until his brother was already down the walk and pulling the door to the Impala open before turning back to his victim. 

“Evan Carvel, you are being sentenced to an eternity in Hell where you will be tortured and tormented like you have tortured and tormented others.” He recited formally, voice deep and grave as he pulled out his favorite gleaming knife from the sheath at his side. “Say hello to Alistair for me, fucker.” 

With glowing green eyes and a wicked smirk, Dean slit Evan Carvel’s throat wide open to the bone, chuckling quietly to himself as a spray of blood painted the hideous wallpaper covering the man’s living room walls. 

He took a few more moments to wash the blood off his hands and face in the half bath in the hall before he exited the house closing the door behind him. Sliding into the passenger seat, he leaned over and nuzzled against Sam’s neck before giving his little brother a little lick and sitting back in his seat. 

Sam rolled his eyes again putting the car into drive and pulling away from the quiet neighborhood, putting Evan Carvel and his many sins in their rearview mirror. 

When the cops finally arrived with an ambulance not three minutes later, they kicked down the door to find Evan Carvel dead, tied to his kitchen table in the middle of his living room. They find him naked and covered in his own shit and blood still warm and dripping from his many and almost innumerable wounds. 

They find a box filled with home made and bought VHS tapes of young children, boys and girls. They find a shoe box filled with photographs of children taken in his garage, in his bedroom. 

The police asked around with the neighbors that night, what they had seen. They all said two men, early to late twenties, tall and nondescript had pulled up to Evan Carvel’s house around midnight in an old black car. When they were asked what the men’s faces looked like, their hair color, eye color, none of the witnesses could answer, their faces pinched in confusion and concentration. The memories seemed to be blurred and difficult to pull to the forefront. 

The license plate number, model and make of the old black car were equally as elusive. 

The police were baffled, but they weren’t that concerned. No one looked too far into Evan Carvel’s murder. He had little to no remaining family and his burial went almost unmarked.

Evan Carvel died on a warm summer night, was buried two weeks later once the coroners report was filed, and was exposed as a child molester in the papers. 

*

Sam was calm and relaxed, the sounds of ACDC twanging from the Impala’s speakers quietly. His head was resting against the passenger side window and his face was warmed by the summer sun as it moved in and out of the fluffy clouds blanketing the sky. 

Dean was sitting next to him with one arm stretched out across the back of the bench seat and one hand sat lightly on the wheel keeping the car in the lines and on a steady course out of state. Peaking his eyes open and glancing over, Sam felt a soft smile tug at his lips as he watched his brother lip-sync the words to every song, never failing to get at least one or two words wrong. 

His heart was swelling with love and he didn’t even bother wasting time on insecurity as he straightened from his place and scooted across the seat to press himself against Dean’s side. Dean’s lips paused in their silent movements and his eyes flicked toward his brother a moment before he wrapped his free arm around Sam’s shoulders and pulled him closer. 

“You okay?” He asked, voice husky from hours of silence despite his penchant for mouthing the words to whatever song was playing on the radio. 

Sam laid his head on Dean’s shoulder and closed his eyes once again. “Yeah.” He breathed and laid a heavy, hot hand on Dean’s thigh, giving it a squeeze. “Just wanted to cuddle.” 

Snorting, Dean brushed Sam’s hair gently away from his face with his finger tips, his eyes not leaving the road. “You know, for an antichrist, you sure are one big teddy bear.” 

“Shut up.” Sam pouted, not bothering to open his eyes. “You love it and you know it.” 

Dean smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Yeah.” He murmured quietly. “I do.” 

They rode the rest of the way to the next town, whichever one that was, pressed against each other and just enjoying the warmth and intimacy of being together. It had always been like this with them. As long as they could remember. 

Growing up they’d only ever had each other. They’d been outcasts in Hell, not demons and not souls to be tortured, but antichrists to be feared and ostracized. John had done the best that he could, but when Mary had died, a bit of him had died with her. 

Of course it had been harder for Sam. It had always been harder for Sam. Stronger than anyone could possibly know and yet still so vulnerable and sensitive. Dean had thrown himself into protecting Sam, into taking care of him. They were brothers after all, that’s just what brothers did for each other. 

Then again, not everyone falls in love with their brother the moment they hold him for the first time. Dean did though. He’s been in love with Sammy since John had placed that perfect little bundle in his arms and said, “Take care of your little brother, Dean.” 

It might have been a problem, even for full demons, to be in love with your brother except for the fact that Sam loved Dean back just as much. They were all each other needed. All they wanted. 

And they were possessive and protective about it, too. 

They pulled into a crappy inner city motel and checked into a single room with a king. They didn’t even raise an eyebrow from the bored clerk at the front desk. The motel was that crappy, they offered rooms by the hour. 

“Dean.” Sam called as he yawned, his jaw popping from the strain. “Are you going to be long? I’m kinda hungry.” 

Dean stuck his head out of the bathroom and gave his little brother a half annoyed scowl. “I just got in here, Sam. I still feel all grimy from the blood and the twelve hour drive. Give me at least ten minutes before you start complaining.” 

Huffing out a breath, Sam collapsed back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling listening to the bathroom door closing again, the squeal of old pipes as the shower came on. He knew how much Dean liked a long soak in the shower after he’d had his fun torturing the damned, but he was so hungry! 

It took a lot of energy to blur their features and the Impala’s large body for the entire time they were on a job. He always came away from a job with a growling stomach and the need for a good nap. 

As if on cue, his stomach gave a protesting groan and Sam patted it consolingly, the sounds of the shower spray hitting tile still filled the room. He hadn’t eaten since they’d stopped at that dive for breakfast on the outskirts of the last town. He had a hankering for a nice juicy burger. 

Licking his lips, Sam pushed himself off the bed and snagged the car keys out of Dean’s discarded jeans pocket. They didn’t technically need to drive to get from place to place, but it was a hell of a lot more fun and the Impala had become like home to them. Besides, they looked damn hot in it. 

He stuck his head in the bathroom and yelled at Dean that he’d be back with food, receiving an affirmative call from the shower stall and a wet hand waving dismissively at him from behind the shower curtain. 

Sam smiled softly to himself and stepped out of the motel room and strolled down the stairs and out of the building toward the parking lot. Climbing into the Impala, Sam pulled it out onto the street and started searching for a good looking burger joint. 

They didn’t technically need to eat to stay alive, but when they were topside, on Earth it made living a hell of a lot easier. And fun. Can’t forget fun. 

There weren’t generally things like steak or pie in Hell, so Dean and Sam partook and indulged as much as possible before they were called back home for their periodic check ins. 

If it were up to the Hell council, Dean and Sam would be permanently stuck in the pit doing their duty as the antichrists of Hell. Since no one wanted to test out just how powerful either Winchester brother was, the council was forced to be satisfied with the brothers’ infrequent visits down under. 

Smirking to himself, Sam spotted a joint that fairly hopped with activity. It looked like a freaking roach infested hole in the wall, but the parking lot was full and the drive-through was lined up all the way into the street. Perfect. 

Sam parked in a darkened alley on the side of the joint and decided to wait in line like a normal person. It made him feel… normal to do things the hard way, the human way. Dean liked to gripe and whine and wheedle, but Sam knew he liked it too. In Hell everything was so different; they couldn’t disappear, go unnoticed, fade into the background. On Earth, they could just be another couple on the street, another face in the crowd. It was freeing. 

The pretty Hispanic girl behind the window gave him an appreciative smile and Sam returned it without any intention of following through. It was still fun to flirt though. She took his order: four cheese burgers, four fries, two large Dr. Peppers. 

He handed her the money and stepped off to the side to wait for his number to be called. People-watching was one of his favorite things to do. He never tried to read their souls or their minds; that ruined the fun. Instead he just looked at the expressions on their faces and the clothes they wore. 

He made up stories for them, important events in their lives. He gave them happy endings and knew that they would never come true. 

His number was called and he grabbed the box that held his bags and drinks. He made his way back across the parking lot and toward the Impala still parked on the side street away from the rest of the customers. 

Sam never saw the blow coming, but he felt the pain of it as his vision went white and his body crumbled to the dirty pavement. His last thought before he lost consciousness was, “Man, Dean is going to be so _pissed_.” 

*

Bobby Singer was a lonely man. He knew it. He didn’t care. There was very little in his life that he still cared about: his salvage yard, his dog, and hunting. 

He was a good hunter. He was thorough and careful and known for his impressively large collection of books on myth, legend, and the occult. Other hunters came to him for help on researching creatures and lore. Bobby was always happy to oblige. 

Over twenty years he’s been a hunter and hunted almost every creature and supernatural thing indigenous to North America and northern Mexico. He’s seen just about everything, killed just about everything, but he has a specialty. Something he’s spent years tracking and hunting, something he’s got a special place in his hunting heart for. 

Demons. 

*

Sam felt the pain in the back of his head the moment he regained awareness. His hands and feet were tied and he felt tight all over, itchy and confined. 

Groaning, he twitched his body and uncurled his finger from where they were digging into his lower back. His head was throbbing, but even as he registered the pain, his body was healing itself and the stiffness was loosening. 

It might be ironic, silly that a half demon that had grown up in Hell hated being confined and strained, but it was what it was and Sam _hated_ it. Hated the vulnerability of it. He sent out small tendrils of his power and disintegrated the ropes that were binding him. They fell to dust on the concrete beneath him and he pulled his knees up to his belly and his arms forward to wrap around his himself. 

He didn’t feel right. Everything felt wrong. 

“Well, I ain’t never seen that before.” Said a rough gravely voice from somewhere ahead of him. 

Blazing hazel eyes snapped open and Sam spring into a crouch, a snarl curled at his lips. “Who the fuck are you?”

The man on the outside of the Devil’s Trap, because -Sam realized- that’s exactly what was making him feel confined and claustrophobic, just raised a bushy eyebrow at him and swiped a hand underneath his beat up hat over his hair. 

“I’d like to ask you the same, boy.” He answered. “I ain’t never caught a demon like you before.” 

Sam snarled, lip pulling up from his teeth in a move that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a wolf. “You’re a hunter!” He spat in recognition. 

“Yep.” The hunter nodded and stuck both hands in his jean pockets unconcerned. “Name’s Bobby Singer.” 

Sam smirked evilly –he was an antichrist after all- and started to pull power within him. This hunter dared to capture him, confine him. Well, Sam just wasn’t going to stand for that. Dean taught him better than that. 

He yanked at his power growing angrier and cast it out seeking to shake the very ground around them and crack the Devil’s Trap so he could take the hunter down himself, with his bare hands. 

Nothing happened. Instead of erupting outward, his power just bubbled and bubbled and stayed locked away inside him like a stoppered geyser. “What?” He cursed and took a second look at the Devil’s Trap he was locked in. 

Sam hissed and as he read the extra ring of runes and jerked his head back up to the hunter with a growl of anger and frustration. 

Bobby nodded calmly. “I figured you might be little stronger than my regular fair and took the liberty of adding a power dampener.” 

Beyond pissed and starting to panic just the slightest bit, Sam cast out as far as he could to and saw with horror that his power didn’t reach further than that circle of runes. He couldn’t even call to Dean, couldn’t call to his big brother for help. 

Turning his eyes back on the hunter, Sam glared at him. “What do you want with me?” 

Bobby cocked his head to the side almost curiously. “That depends.” He answered. “Are you one of the demons torturing and killing folk in their homes?” 

What a loaded question that was, Sam thought. Nearly every demon topside tortured folk in their homes. Sam and Dean included. 

“Depends on the folk.” He said, his muscles still bunched from the stress of the situation and unease of confinement. 

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Bobby, because one second the old man was frowning and the next Sam let out a startled shout and was jerking away from the spray of holy water. Damn that stung!

“I ain’t playing here.” Bobby said, a sport bottle filled with holy water clasped tightly in one hand. “You’re possessing some poor bastard and I aim to send you back to where you came from.” 

It was then that Sam realized that this Bobby Singer didn’t quite understand what he’d caught in his little Trap. Exorcisms didn’t work on the Winchester boys, because they didn’t have bodies to be exorcised from. The bodies you see are the bodies they were born in. 

A sudden chuckle broke from him and Sam fell back on his butt, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “You have no idea, do you?” He asked still finding his captor’s ignorance hilariously funny. 

Bobby, it seemed, didn’t find anything funny and he scowled at Sam from underneath his ball cap as he pulled a worn dog-eared bible from his duffle on the floor at his feet. “You won’t be laughing much when I’m finished with you, demon.” 

That only served to make Sam laughed harder. That is, until Bobby popped the holy book open and started reciting Latin scripture from it. 

“Shit!” Sam cursed and curled in on himself as the words stabbed at him like needles. It hurt like a bitch, but this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words of God and been pained by them. This wasn’t the first time he’d wished, just this once, that he’d been born human, normal. 

“Fuck, stop! Alright! Stop!” The pain wasn’t unbearable and it wouldn’t do anything to him except make him sore as hell, but still, Sam would rather not have to kill this hunter when he didn’t have to.

Bobby stopped his reading and stared at his captive in horror and incomprehension. That exorcism was ancient and infallible. It worked a hundred percent of a hundred percent of the time. All it seemed to be doing to this bastard was annoy him even more. 

“What in the hell are you?” 

Sam snorted and pushed himself back into a sitting position before turning dark, unamused eyes on this Bobby Singer. “Good question. You wanna rephrase it more politely and you just might get an answer.” 

As bewildered and stunned as Bobby was that his exorcism hadn’t worked, this punk’s smart mouth didn’t do anything to improve his mood. He swept an arm through the air and sprayed the demon in his Trap with another shower of holy water. 

Cursing a blue streak, Sam lunged to his feet, his skin smoking and stinging from the onslaught and cut a sharp hand through the air, his power exploding and hitting the circle of runes like a clap of thunder. 

“Enough!” He bellowed, his voice almost louder than the clash of power. “You have me in your Trap, hunter. Try my patience further and I won’t let you live when I get out of here.” 

Bobby felt like his entire body was vibrating. Whether from fear or the backlash of power that just nearly brought the warehouse down on top of him he didn’t know. He’d never seen or heard of a demon with that kind of power. The concrete around the Devil’s Trap was scorched and smoking, cracks spanned outwards from it like a spider’s web. 

He came to the conclusion that not only was this _not_ a demon, it was something far, far more powerful. 

One hand came to land on his head through his hat and Bobby stared wide eyed at the young man standing and glaring at him inside the Devil’s Trap. “Good Lord, what have I got myself into?” 

Sam snorted, very little of his humor from earlier remaining. “Your Lord will not answer your question for you.” 

“You’re not a demon, are you?” Bobby asked, a concentrated frown on his face. He’d never been wrong before. His jerry rigged demon meter had never been wrong before. If this wasn’t a demon since the holy water and Devil’s Trap worked, but the exorcism mostly didn’t, then what was it? 

Sam widened his stance and hunched his shoulders warily. “You’re not wrong.” He answered after a moment. 

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. “But I ain’t right either.” 

A wry smirk pulled at his lips. This hunter wasn’t so bad. Definitely smarter than the last one that tried to get him. “No, not really.” 

“You ain’t gonna just satisfy my curiosity and tell me, are you?” Bobby said knowingly. 

Shaking his head, Sam rocked back on his heels. “Nope. You’ll only ever learn something if you figure out the answer for yourself.” 

“You’ve a smart assed mouth on you.” Bobby observed and crossed his arms over his chest, reluctantly amused and intrigued by his captive. 

Sam grinned, his dimples flashing. 

It was strange. This- thing looked so young and almost… innocent. It wasn’t, Lord knew Bobby knew that, but there was a sense of innocence about him. Like the kid hadn’t yet given up on the world. 

Which was horribly ironic considering the punk was stuck in a Devil’s Trap at the mercy of a hunter almost dead set of wiping him off the face of the earth. 

“If you ain’t a demon, then how come you’re stuck in my Devil’s Trap?” 

Sam frowned at bit and glanced down at the Trap warily. It made him itch, like his insides were too big for his body. He was uncomfortably confined in it. “Why are you hunting demon home invaders?” He asked in return. 

That brought a shadow over Bobby’s face and a hardening of his brow. Sam watched his walls ascend and decided to do a little digging. Perhaps what information he gleaned from this man’s mind and soul will help him convince the hunter to let him go. 

This ability worked by proximity and functioned with more finesse than raw power. It was a light touch and thankfully the runes didn’t block it enough to keep flashes of Bobby Singer’s mind and soul away from Sam’s searching fingers. 

He plucked bits and pieces about the man’s past from him like drops of water and combed through his soul like a water strider on a pond. What he found saddened him. 

Bobby wasn’t wrong when he’d concluded that Sam wasn’t completely hardened to the world and its cruelties. The human half of him wouldn’t let that happen. 

Sympathetic hazel eyes rose to meet brown and Sam tilted his head to the side, his hands now shoved in his pockets. He almost felt bad about prying. “I’m sorry.” He said. 

Bobby scowled even deeper. “What?” 

Sam looked him in the eyes again. “I’m sorry about your wife. She didn’t deserve that.” 

Pain arced through the older man’s chest and he staggered backward with it. “What the hell do you know about my wife, boy?” He growled, anger and old hurt twisting his face grotesquely. 

Sam just watched him with blank, unreadable eyes. “I know you loved her very much.” Sam said at first then flicked his eyes away and to the side. “And that she was possessed by a demon. You had to kill her.” 

A hiss of anger and outrage broke from Bobby and he clinched his fists at his sides, “You shut the fuck up about my wife, boy. You don’t know shit about my wife.” 

Watching the hunter, watching his pain wasn’t a happy thing for Sam. He understood the man’s pain too well for that. He couldn’t imagine going on and actually having to live if Dean wasn’t by his side. His father hadn’t lasted very long after his human love, Sam and Dean’s mother, had passed. This man had lost the love his life by his own forced hand. He wasn’t to be ridiculed. 

“I don’t know much about your wife.” Sam conceded not particularly concerned with any kind of damage that Bobby Singer could do to him, but still feeling the need to offer the man some kind of comfort. Despite the Devil’s Trap and the fading knock on the back of his head, of course. 

“But I know that you loved her very much.” 

“Yeah.” Bobby gritted out from his clinched teeth. “I did. Something you wouldn’t know diddley-squat about.” 

Sam looked him in the eyes again. “You’re wrong.” He said. And he would be proved wrong in a very short about amount of time. Dean was here, Sam could feel him, feel his worry and anger and fear. Feel his love. 

Bobby scowled and opened his mouth to say something more when the door to the warehouse was ripped off its hinges and thrown across the parking lot outside. He didn’t have time to go for his gun before he was thrown against the wall and his air was cut off by a strong forearm, a snarling furious face a breath away from his own. 

He gasped and scrabbled at the arm keeping him from breathing. 

“Dean!” Sam shouted the moment his brother stopped moving. He had Bobby Singer pinned against the wall and he was the most beautiful thing Sam had every seen. His power seemed to roll off of him in waves and batter against the runes trying to seek out Sam’s own, to reassure him that Sam was well and unhurt. 

“Sam?” Dean growled his eyes never leaving Bobby’s own wide and alarmed stare. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes!” Sam gasped stepping as close to the outer circle as he could get without actually touching the ring of confinement. “I’m fine. Dean, let him down.” 

Dean snarled and finally broke his gaze away the hunter’s to look at his brother for the first time. “What? He captured you! Hurt you!” 

Rolling his eyes, Sam held his arms out on either side of himself. “I’m fine, Dean. See? He didn’t do more than poke at me, like a child with a stick.” 

If Bobby could have breathed he would have taken exception to that. He wasn’t no damned child and his strongest exorcism wasn’t no damned stick. 

Dean’s eyes searched out Sam’s and read the truth in them. He glanced back at his captive with suspicion and no small parts disappointment before he eased up the pressure on the man’s throat, but didn’t let him go. 

Bobby felt a sudden near painful wave of power ripple out of the man still holding him against the wall and had to gasp to keep it from choking him again. It almost visibly slammed itself against the circle of runes with more and more fury and frustration until finally the man snarled in frustration and slammed Bobby back against the wall once more. 

“What did you do?” He growled in the hunter’s face. “What did you do?!” 

“Dean!” Sam shouted again. He knew very well how protective his brother got and he really didn’t want Bobby Singer’s blood on their hands. He was a good man. He had done no evil in his dark, lonely life. “Stop it! It’s alright. It’s just some power dampening runes. You’ll just have to get him to release them.” 

That didn’t seem to placate his brother even a little bit. Dean jerked his gaze back to Bobby’s and pressed a gun that had appeared out of nowhere to the older man’s temple. Bobby held himself perfectly still and stared into the eyes of something frightening and dangerous. 

“You will release my brother and if you try anything, if there is even a hair split on his head, the bullets in this gun will be the least of your worries.” 

Bobby nodded stiffly and let the younger man practically drag him toward the Devil’s Trap. He thought for a moment of reciting the scripture he’d memorized, but thought better of it. The words of God may hurt them, but it didn’t seem to do more than annoy them, more like a bee sting to a bull. 

Sam watched his brother drag the hunter closer and he felt his body singing and nearly vibrating with the need to feel Dean against him. To feel his arms around him, safe and warm and there. 

Dean pushed the hunter to his knees and watched as he scratched a line in the Devil’s Trap and the runes with a thumb nail. The moment the magic and bindings were released Dean could feel it. He practically threw the older man away from himself as his brother flew into his arms and he wrapped him up in a tight embrace. 

Burying his nose in Dean’s shoulder, Sam breathed in his scent and felt his body shake with relief. He was safe, Dean’s hands were stroking over his back, shoulders, and head checking for hurts and wounds, checking that he was safe. Sam tightened his arms around Dean’s neck for a second before he pulled back and crushed their lips together in a near desperate kiss. 

Dean didn’t complain and thrust his tongue in his brother’s mouth with just as much desperation and ferocity. He’d never forget the utter panic he’d felt when he realized what had happened to his Sammy, and the near blinding terror when he realized he couldn’t call to him. That something was blocking their connection. 

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.” He murmured against his brother’s mouth as he nipped and licked at his lips. “Don’t do that again. You scared the crap out of me.” 

Chuckling a little bit and smiling into their kisses, Sam nuzzled his nose against Dean’s before opening his eyes and staring into his brother’s unwavering gaze. “I was okay, Dean. Nothing happened. Me and Bobby Singer were just having a little chat.” 

That seemed to bring all three men back to the present and the two brothers broke apart and turned to see a wide eyed and completely uncomprehending Bobby Singer staring at them. These two were brothers? Bobby thought, trying to grasp at the idea and make it make sense. They were kissing and clutching at each other like love struck teens, but they were brothers…

Oh, his head was starting to hurt. 

Dean sneered at the hunter just standing there and watching them. “A little chat, eh?” 

Pursing his lips in annoyance, Sam nudged him in the shoulder. Dean just tightened his arm around Sam’s waist, his eyes still glaring at the hunter. 

“Dean, he’s not a bad guy. He didn’t know. We can’t kill him.” 

“But we can hurt him a little.” Dean grinned darkly. 

Sam just pinched his side in warning. “No. We’re letting him go.” 

A huff and a pout made Dean look about ten years old. Bobby stared in bewilderment as the two -demons?- argued. “But why? He hurt you, Sammy.” 

“No, he didn’t.” Sam denied, with a sigh of long suffering. “Just tossed some holy water on me and chanted some old exorcism. No big deal.” 

Dean didn’t seem to think it was no big deal because he glared and growled taking a threatening step forward. Bobby was not ashamed to say that, after all he’d seen from these two, he’d taken a step backward. 

“Dean.” Sam drawled warningly. 

The older brother finally just huffed in mild annoyance and turned to press his face into Sam’s cheek, his eyes closed for a moment. “Alright, but we’re calling it a debt.” 

“Of course.” Sam smiled at him brightly and pressed a thanking kiss to his pouting lips. 

Bobby watched the exchange with growing unease and bewilderment. They acted like… young kids hopped up on love. But it was plain to see just how dangerous they were. What exactly was it that he was letting walk away from him? 

The older man’s attention was grabbed once again as the shorter of the two boys stepped forward with a very put upon look until his features smoothed out and an air of power and purpose came upon him. 

“Robert Steven Singer, we are Dean and Sam Winchester, spawn of Hell and sons of Earth. We show you our mercy. Your life and soul are spared our wrath. We will find you again, Robert Singer of Sioux Falls, and we will ask a boon of you. Do not deny us for our generosity is not everlasting. From here on until our boon is fulfilled, you have our protection, Robert Singer.” The thunder in Dean’s voice paused for a moment before a sly grin pulled at the boy’s lips and his eyes shined with mischief. “We look forward to doing business with you.” He winked. 

Bobby felt the words flow over him like water, sticking to his skin and hair and dripping to the floor like silk. 

A shiver went up his spine and a sense of weight and foreboding clung to his shoulders like heavy hands. He swallowed and asked himself what in the hell he’d gotten himself into. Maybe it would have been better if they’d just killed him. 

“Bobby.” Sam’s voice grabbed the old hunter’s attention. He turned his eyes on the younger, taller boy and stared at him. “We are not the bad guys, Bobby.” Sam tried to explain, but some of his sincerity was tarnished by Dean’s snort. 

Elbowing his brother, Sam turned back to the hunter before them. “We don’t torture the innocent. We don’t have to possess humans to walk the Earth. We’re not… like other demons.” 

“Obviously.” Dean muttered under his breath earning himself another elbow in the side. He just glared at his brother and went back to ignoring the human in front of them again. 

“I really am sorry about your wife.” Sam said again, this time drawing Dean’s attention as well. He met his brother’s eyes and sent him the few images and tidbits he’d been able to pick up through the runes. Dean’s eyes softened in understanding and he pressed a protective, tender hand to Sam’s lower back. 

“She shouldn’t have had to suffer through that.” Sam said. “Neither of you should have.” 

Bobby felt a stinging in his eyes and he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. He tried real hard not to believe the demon’s sincerity, but it was hard when he knew the boy was right. 

“If it helps,” Sam hedged almost hesitantly, “Karen’s in a better place now.” He himself was not quite sure you could call Heaven a better place per-se considering you would have to deal with all those tight assed, uptight angels, but he knew that humans that have led good lives and were good people always found them selves in Heaven instead of Hell. 

Bobby snorted derisively and scowled at the boy. “Boy, I don’t need your taunts on top of your burden.” 

A light frown curled at Sam’s brow. “I’m not taunting you. If she were in Hell we would know it. She’s not there and there’s only one other place she could be.” 

Stunned and confused by that, Bobby didn’t even have time to respond before the shorter one, Dean, had wrapped both arms around his lo-… brother and sent him a jaunty, mock salute. 

“See you around, Bobby Singer. You can be sure of that.” He said before both he and his brother’s eyes glowed eerily, inhumanly and they were gone. Just gone. 

Bobby snapped his mouth shut and blinked his eyes. He ain’t never seen a demon do that either. He glanced from the scorched and wrecked Devil’s Trap to the torn solid steel door on the warehouse wall. He asked himself again, what the hell had he just released back on the world?

And what would happen when the boys, the Winchesters, called in their favor? 

*

It was mid winter and South Dakota was covered in snow. Bobby was achy and grumpy and not looking forward to shoveling off his truck so he could drive into town and pick up some more supplies. Another storm was due in and he was getting low on red meat. 

Months have past since that strange baffling night in that warehouse half way across the country and Bobby has spent more hours than he cared to admit thinking about the Winchester boys. He wouldn’t be a good hunter if he didn’t at least own up to doing a bit of research on them. 

The Winchesters, with their young faces, their glowing eyes, strange powers, and love sick doe eyes, were what the Christian bible called antichrists. Spawn of Hell and Sons of Earth, just like Dean had said. 

More powerful than demons; damned sure more powerful than humans and more powerful than any creature Bobby’s ever lived to tell the tale of. There was a good solid week after Bobby had found that bit of information that he woke up every morning thankful that the sun had risen and he was alive to see it. 

That healthy fear of his mortality had faded and Bobby now was just bewildered. One would think antichrists were pure evil, hell bent on death and destruction and anarchy. But those boys, they seemed more human than half the hunters Bobby has run across in his days. They weren’t like demons and were definitely not humans. 

They were an enigma. Or was it just that the Winchesters themselves were an enigma? They damned sure weren’t normal. Human and Demon. Brothers and lovers. Bobby didn’t pretend to understand any of it or cast aspersions on them for it, but… some things he could do without having to think too hard on. 

And it was obvious that they were lovers. They hadn’t even denied or tried to hide that they were brothers. It was odd, if you asked Bobby, but certainly not the oddest thing he’d ever heard of or seen. Mexico, after all, was wild place. 

It wasn’t the socially unacceptable love the brothers seemed to share or the vast amounts of unfathomable power at their fingertips to wield that weighed on Bobby’s mind the most, however. It was the boon they would most definitely ask of him. 

In payment for their mercy, Dean had said. Bobby had their protection until their favor is fulfilled, whatever that means, and Bobby wasn’t comfortable with that one bit. Thankfully, he hadn’t been doing anything more dangerous or rigorous than a couple salt and burns before he got snowed in. 

He didn’t have a mind to find out just what the protection of an antichrist –two antichrists- was like. 

Taking the last sip of his now chilled coffee, Bobby shook all his worries and thoughts about the Winchesters out of his mind -or at least to the back of it- and started tugging on his coat and grabbing his keys for the trip into town. 

He didn’t get quite that far before the rusty old doorbell from the front porch chimed through the house like an asthmatic cat. Pausing mid pull of a coat sleeve, Bobby frowned and grabbed a pistol from the kitchen table before he walked through his front hall and peeked through the frilly lace curtain on the front door. 

He jerked it shut and felt his breath and heart start coming faster and beating louder. Forcibly calming himself, he unlocked the door and yanked it open with an appropriately grumpy scowl on his face. 

There on his front steps was Sam and Dean Winchester in thick winter coats, leather gloves, and dark knit caps. They looked like normal, cold college kids until their eyes flash in a passing beam of sunlight and Bobby felt a shiver go up his spine. 

Sam smiled at him, all dimples and shining hazel eyes and white straight teeth. “Hey Bobby!” He greeted cheerily. “Can we come in?” 

Bobby doubted that they needed or normally asked for permission, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to welcome them in. 

Dean was eyeing him with suspicion and wariness until his brother nudged him purposefully in the side, smile never slipping from his face. Huffing in annoyance, Dean lifted a couple of plastic sacks from the grocers in town drawing Bobby’s eyes to them. 

“We brought meat.” He said, voice sounding petulant and put upon. 

Bobby blinked at the grocery sacks held in the boy’s grasp for a moment before -God help him- he started laughing. And the laughs didn’t stop as he stepped to the side letting the Winchester boys slip by him and into the warm house. 

Who’d have thought a couple of antichrists would have good ole home grown manners? Bringing a present for their host! Bobby just kept on laughing as he shut the door and figured that if anything, at least the Winchester boys were worth the laugh. 

*

End.


End file.
